


call it what you want

by paintantarctica



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Fade to Black, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Vague Feelings, ooc by default / it’s not june 8 YET
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintantarctica/pseuds/paintantarctica
Summary: “You’re fucking annoying, do you know that?” he spits at Niagara as soon as the world is upright again.





	call it what you want

**Author's Note:**

> cutting it REAL close w/ this june 8 release date in the US (where i’m currently not, but still), i know!! save me

“Hey, baby,” Niagara is saying, somewhere to his right, wherever the fuck he is. Everything’s fuzzy and he can’t really tell which way is up. “Baby,” Niagara says again. Then there are arms wrapped around his upper torso, and he tries to escape because that’s his default response, that’s what you do when someone thinks that much physical contact is _okay_ , but Niagara’s arms just. Stay there.

“You’re fucking annoying, do you know that?” he spits at Niagara as soon as the world is upright again. Niagara’s dragged them both down so they’re sitting on the floor now, and he’s still got his arms wrapped around him, because Niagara is a goddamn fucking asshole.

“Pulco, baby...” Niagara sounds tired, which— _good_. That’s what Acapulco fucking _does_. He tires people out. It’s, like, his thing.

“Do you have any other words in your vocabulary? Or did you, like, drop out of high school before they made you take a proper English class because a life of crime was just so enticing?”

Niagara sighs, and Acapulco feels his exhale, warm against his ear. “Pulco, you know we’ve been over this. I dropped out of high school because—“

“Hey, where are we?” They’re in some kind of master bedroom, he’s guessing, and it’s really fucking nice. Usually it’s this run-down but not _too_  run-down motel at the halfway point between them that they’ve made a habit of meeting up at when they’re both in town.

Niagara gets that look on his face, the one he gets when you pry too much into whatever he classifies as Personal Business. “Come on,” Acapulco says, and leans up just a tiny little bit (he’s _not_  short) to kiss Niagara, just a tiny... little...

When they finally separate for air, Acapulco’s feeling pretty good about himself. “Come _on_ ,” he says, because if Niagara really wanted to he would have, and definitely could have, shut Acapulco up by now. “You can tell me.”

“I have a place here; I made my driver come here after... you know.” Niagara fixes Acapulco with a stare.

“Wowww,” Acapulco says, fake-amazed, while Niagara rolls his eyes at him. “The Wolf King’s lair, huh? I’m honored. Thought you killed a guy and stole his fancy house or something.”

“Who said I didn’t?” Niagara asks, completely straight-faced, untangling his body from Acapulco’s and putting a good foot between them. Damn. Just when he was finally getting used to it.

Niagara stands up and crosses over to the other side of the room, shedding his stupid houndstooth jacket on the way and folding it up all nice and neat before draping it over the back of what looks like the least comfortable couch in the entire universe.

He’s rolling up his sleeves when he says, “So, your China deal went through—“

“My what?” Acapulco’s not really paying attention to anything Niagara’s saying; his arms are much, much more interesting.

“Your phone fell out of your pocket while I was dragging you in here and your guy texted you so I read—“

“You did _what_?” Acapulco shrieks.

“Relax, baby.” Acapulco’s going to fucking kill him.

“I’m gonna fucking _kill_ —“

“Acapulco,” Niagara says, and Acapulco sort of jumps at hearing all four syllables. It’s been a while. “His name in your contacts was literally ‘China Guy Check If The Deal Went Through.’”

Damn it. “Okay, fine,” he says, in a voice that indicates things are not fine at all. “But you’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Let me make it up to you.” Then his voice drops _practically_  an octave and he asks, “Do you want me to make it up to you?” And he’s right there on the floor again, arms wrapped around Acapulco like a fucking— he doesn’t know; all he knows is that whatever Niagara’s doing right now is somehow going straight to his dick. Seriously, Niagara gives him so much goddamn whiplash sometimes he doesn’t even know what—

“Hey, wait, old guy. Can we move to the bed? I mean, I hate to interrupt whatever you’re doing to my, uh— um, whatever you’re doing to me, but that bed looks really comfortable and the floor... isn’t, and I’d hate to miss out on something like that, and—“

Niagara just picks Acapulco up, no warning— shit, Acapulco didn’t even know he could do that— and two seconds later, he’s lying down on the aforementioned bed, Niagara propped up on his elbows just a few inches above him.

“Better, baby?” Niagara says, staring straight into Acapulco’s eyes, cupping his cheek with one hand and sort of— sort of stroking his face with the other.

God, Niagara’s really fucking weird sometimes. But Acapulco’s kind of into it. He’s really, really kind of into it.

**

“Let’s just say I had an... ulterior motive,” Niagara is saying, his voice like honey. He’s pressing kisses all along Acapulco’s jaw line.

“Mm.” How is Niagara so goddamn good at this? “For a second there I thought you brought me home because you actually, you know—“ he sidles right up to him so they’re sharing the same pillow— “cared about me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, baby.”

“Oh, you know,” Acapulco continues, nonchalant, “the whole taking me home thing after I _accidentally_  passed out in a car on the way to an undisclosed love shack— don’t give me that look, that’s exactly what that motel is for us. Anyway. Can’t blame a guy for getting confused, can you?”

Niagara sighs. “You were passed out from whatever the fuck you were on—“

“Trivial detail,” Acapulco declares.

“—and we had a date—“

“Ooh, a _date_ , is that what we call casual hook-ups now?”

“Shut up, Pulco,” Niagara says, and rolls over so he’s facing the wall. “You know what I meant. Make sure the door actually shuts on your way out.”

By the time Acapulco decides to peer over Niagara’s shoulder and check up on him (it’s what any decent person would do), Niagara’s fallen asleep and he can’t help but feel extremely smug. See? Tiring people out is his _thing_.


End file.
